


one string, sweet husband to another

by sleepdrunk



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdrunk/pseuds/sleepdrunk
Summary: “Ahh, Jim-- no, Sugar, don’t bother turning it off,” he says, stopping Jim mid-motion. “Jimmy, it sounds like your dorm--” he says as the song changes, a fresh wave of giggles hitting him. “Jesus, Jim,” he says, when he finally can catch a breath. “Is that Captain and Tennille?”





	one string, sweet husband to another

**Author's Note:**

> the working title is "jingle jimmy"
> 
> written in 2017 for old married spirk, deleted because i am unconfident and weird

Jim has always considered himself something of a connoisseur of music-- not only Terran, but a fair amount of Orion, Betazoid; even some Klingon. The most highly prized piece of music in his collection-- he’s not sure if he should call it an album or what-- is a single data chip that he wrestled from Amanda on his and Spock’s last visit. It contains over 72 hours of Vulcan chanting. 

He always returns to his favourites-- Thelonious Monk. Nat King Cole. Ray Charles… Doris Day… Louis Armstrong. Miles Davis-- “ _ especially  _ Bitches Brew _ , Bones-- you can hear the influence of Sly Stone on that Album. Not just in flavour, but in the execution--” _

Bones called his tastes  _ ‘refined’ _ once, and he honest-to-God blushed for a good twenty minutes. 

Sometimes though, he likes to haul out those other favourites; the ones that are far too upbeat and cheesy. The ones his parents played for each other, way back when; when things were good and Jim was young enough to find glimpses into their romance embarrassing. But as he ages, he finds that the embarrassment has morphed into something soft and warm; the discomfort of the emotion he was too young to understand melting away.

But mostly, he hauls out the real cheesy stuff just to see how Spock reacts.

So one night, in his newly-upgraded Admiral’s quarters, he lights a candle- and then another, and another; until the little dinner table is aglow with new beeswax candles. It smells divine, he thinks; as he admires his handiwork. He heads back over to check the timer on the replicator-- he doesn’t want dinner to be too early and end up cold-- and decides to put on his dorkiest playlist. 

All of a sudden, the room is filled with upbeat music. 

It’s a little too loud, but Jim scrambles and forgets exactly what commands to give Majel-- and besides, the music's too loud for him to shout over. He gives up with a roll of his eyes and goes to change out of his stuffy uniform; the ribbed turtleneck has been itching since lunchtime. 

Just then, the door opens and he wheels around, expecting to see Spock-- but instead, Bones waltzes in. 

Jim freezes, starting at Bones. Bones stares at him. The song just keeps going; oblivious.   
  


Then Bones bursts into laughter-- his frame, now thinner than he ever was during their misspent youth, is doubled over and his face is lit right up. 

Jim pulls himself together at the same time as Bones starts to; straightening up and wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. 

“Ahh, Jim-- no, Sugar, don’t bother turning it off,” he says, stopping Jim mid-motion. “Jimmy, it sounds like your dorm--” he says as the song changes, a fresh wave of giggles hitting him. “Jesus, Jim,” he says, when he finally can catch a breath. “Is that Captain and Tennille?” 

Jim puts on a sober face, and takes Bones by the hand and leads him in a slow, exaggerated, and sloppy jive. They settle into it, sticking in a few steps of bad tangoing in as well, Jim dipping Bones whenever the beat seems to call for it. 

Jim spins Bones around-- and the song is now  _ Rocket Man.  _

“I did actually come here with a mission, you know,” says Bones, as they keep swaying together.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Spock’s running a bit late--  _ ‘Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids’ _ ? I think you did alright there, hon.”

One of those rare, bashful smiles spreads across Jim’s face. 

“High praise, Bones-- did we tell you what Saavik’s up to?”

“Only about a thousand times. A thousand and twenty five, if you count the times Spock told me on his own.” 

The music changes again, but it’s a slow, torchy number; and Jim sidles away from Bones to turn it down a little. They take a seat at the little table, and Bones slides a hand into the breast pocket of his uniform. 

“I almost forgot-- I picked you up a little something.” He placed a little box wrapped in gold foil in front of himself, as Jim poured a generous glass of wine. “I do have to get out of here before your date begins, you know. Anyway-- it’s odd you should be playing your  _ let’s woo Spock _ playlist from way back, unless you’ve been getting into my medical textbooks. There’s a connection between facial recognition in memory-loss patients, and emotionally-charged music--”

“I had no idea,” Jim says, hiding his rosy-cheeked smile in his own wineglass. 

“Yeah, well-- act cocky all you want. I know you’re an ol’ softy. Now open your damned present.” 

Jim reached for the package, his thick fingers running over the smooth foil. It was thick and oblong and fit in his palm. He eased the taped corners free and set aside the paper. Inside was a tiny, ancient leather-bound pocket-book-- black; the pages adorned with a gilt edge. The cover read:  _ SONNETS by William Shakespeare _

Jim’s face starts to crumple; his eyes dewy at the edges-- but he hides it well. Bones stands, inviting Jim with his hands to stand as well, and gives him a firm hug. 

“I’ve gotta go, Jim-- Spock’ll be here in a second. Just-- please remember that I’m here, okay? This ain’t easy, not for anyone.”

“I will remember that. He’s much better; some days it’s like Genesis never happened. But when he draws a blank, it’s like he’s hit a wall.” Jim laughs a little. “He gets so grumpy.”

“I know Jim,” Bones says, a soothing palm running up and down Jim’s arm. “I know.”

“The other day, he forgot about-- about David.” Bones had been there when they broke the news, as soon as Spock was lucid. The confused look on his face had been crushing. His brain was fine-- near perfect, according to any and all medical testing-- but it was as though the memories retained in it were stored deep inside the tissue, and anything relevant had to be refreshed in order to trigger the recall. 

The moment he re-learned that he had a son, he learned of his son’s recent death. It must not have stuck, thought Bones. He could understand blocking out a thing like that. 

  
  


The doorbell chimes. “Enter,” commands Jim, and the door swishes open to reveal Spock. He’s wearing casual robes, and his face looks relaxed as ever, the skin unfairly youthful-- if you asked Dr. McCoy-- and yet still craggy with age. 

He inclines his head in a slight bow. “Doctor,” he says as he enters the room. Jim steps forward to kiss him on the cheek.

“Congratulations on your recovery, Spock. I got you boys a gift, but insolence over here already opened it--”

“It is of no consequence, Doctor; wrapping a gift is one Earth custom which I shall forever find--”

“What,  _ highly illogical?” _ McCoy graced him with a soft half-smile. 

“On the contrary. I was going to say ‘ _ endearing’; _ if not somewhat wasteful _ . _ ” 

The doctor pulls Spock into a hug, which he returns; albeit stiffly.  _ _ “Never change, Spock. I mean that.” He hands him the pocket-book. 

Spock wordlessly takes the book from him; his long, elegant hands holding it reverently. His eyes dart back and forth over the tiny cover, then up to McCoy’s face-- then over to Jim’s. His thumb flicks over a flag in the middle of the text, eyes questioning. 

“I thought you might like that one-- I seem to remember a doe-eyed Jim sending me that one over a 3 AM comm, asking me of all people for advice on his love life.”

“Thank you, Bones,” Jim says in response-- Spock seemingly struck dumb for the moment. 

They say their goodbyes and McCoy turns to leave, the door sliding shut behind him in near-silence. Jim pats Spock’s arm and gives him another peck on the cheek, absorbed as he is by the object in his hands. He clears up the wine glasses, now sullied, and gets replacements. He walks over to the replicator to enter in the order for their dinner, but is stopped by Spock’s voice. 

“Hmm?”

“Jim… I did not expect any familiarity with this text, and yet--”   
  
“What is it, Spock? Is everything alright?”

Rather than respond, Spock recites:

>   
_“Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly? ___  
_Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:___  
_Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly,___  
_Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy?___  
_If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,___  
_By unions married, do offend thine ear,___  
_They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds___  
_In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. ___  
_Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,___  
_Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; ___  
_Resembling sire and child and happy mother, ___  
_Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:__  
_ _Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,__  
_ __Sings this to thee: ‘Thou single wilt prove none.’”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Come and yell at me on my [tumblr](https://lovelybydecay.tumblr.com/).


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